Untitled
by MiloVanderbeck
Summary: I'm not exactly sure what to call this in terms of canon/not. I kind of plucked segments from the novels and decided what to include/cut and this definitely won't be for everyone. I also apologize for any grammar mistakes as english is not my first language and am using writing as a way to better myself. Thanks.


The creaking of the aged stairs filled the silence of the solitude tavern, sounding throughout the long corridors and open, unoccupied bedrooms. Geralt clenched the stained rail as he climbed, tightening his grasp to whitened knuckles to avoid stumbling as his legs screamed in protest of the ascent. His entire body sang a twisted song of anguished memory; the fresh wounds having bitten through his leather tunic to mutiliate his back, the crying of his bones as they popped and cracked, and the fatigue creeping through his mind to consume him whole. The smell of death and decay having seeped into his every article of clothing, blood - partially his own - stained his face and tunic.

Geralt shouldered his weight against the wall as he stumbled to even flooring, gasping in shock at the pain. He began to doubt if he would make it to the rest he so coveted, if the floor he now shuffled upon would be his resting place for the night or for good. Even now, with the warm light of the lanterns upon the wall, the hard wooden floor looked enticing. Beckoning for him to lie down upon it, to relinquish his hold on reality and to slip into a dreamland.

"Geralt?" The voice shook him from his trance, sending his eyes in a flurry to fall upon the owner. Yennefer stood in the doorway to her room, hands placed firmly upon her hips as she watched him wince in his attempt to stand from the wall.

"You look horrible."

"I feel it." He muttered, his voice cracked and dry. Yennefer moved from the threshold, sighing as she grasped him firmly and assisted him inwards. Lilac and Gooseberries filled his senses, wafting into his nose as he inhaled deep the smell of the sorceress' perfume. He always loved the sweet of the lilac and bitter of the berry, of the combination, and of the fact it was a sign of her.

"The sooner you stop fantasizing and start walking, Geralt, the sooner you will be rid of this horridness."

"Couldn't help it." He murmured as Yennefer set him heavily in a chair by the single, large window of the bedroom. Silver light of the full moon above flooded in, clashing with the single candle lit by the bed. She closed the door and turned to him, shadows cast across her face yet still stunning.

"What was it this time?" She asked, shaking her head as if she were asking of a child before crossing to help him. She cast his hands away from the knots of his tunic, stopping his fumbling before untying them herself. Geralt heard her curse at the sight of blood, and the wounds it seeped from, but it never escalated.

"A Griffin by the Pontar."

"And how much poison did you drink?" Yennefer had always hated the concept of the elixirs but understood their neccessity. Her hatred for them growing in accordance with each time Geralt returned on the cusp of death.

"Three." He breathed sharply at the pulling of his shirt, revealing the wounds of his torso.

"Gods, Geralt." Yennefer said, "A Griffin did this? Were you drunk?"

Geralt was silent.

"These need to be cleaned or they'll be infected by morning." She left to search the contents of a trunk against the far wall, hands pulling and pushing the contents within in search of supplies. Geralt listened to her murmurs, watching as she retrieved a small pouch from within and turned back to him. A lone finger playing along her eyes.

She removed the contents carefully, setting them upon the small table beside Geralt in an orderly fashion, as she did with everything. A small vial of an unknown substance, an equally small box embellished with silver inlays upon the near black wood, and a spool of simple thread. Yennefer's delicate fingers plucked the vial from the table and pulled the cork, releasing a familiar smell into the air. She wasted no time in applying the substance to the wounds suffered by Geralt, a few drops here and a few drops there, rubbed into the skin with her cool hand. The ointment was biting into him, stinging the wounds with ferocity but of course she hadn't told him.

"These are deep - " She started from silence, "Unbelievable."

Geralt watched as she simply wiped away the residue covering her hand with a small cloth, the material shimmering in the light. Enchanted, he thought, as was everything she pulled from the small pouch. Yennefer's elegant fingers opened the small box next, revealing a single needle positioned atop a pillow of violet silk. She held it in two fingers as her other hand positioned the spool of thread, tying it carefully through the tiny hole.

Geralt felt the tugging of his flesh as she began stitching the severed skin closed, the stinging subsiding as she worked. He could not see her talents with needle and thread, but could feel the improvements since last he came to her bleeding and bruised. He remained silent as she continued, waiting patiently for her to finish so he could finally rest. Yennefer however, had different plans for him.

"You will bathe before sleeping beside me, Geralt. You smell rotten."

"Reading my mind..."

"Of course. Now strip while I set a bath, I would like to examine for any more wounds."

Geralt did as he was told, pulling his boots free and standing to remove his trousers. At once he remembered the aching of his legs but continued as Yennefer watched, her hands against the wall of the tub as water slowly filled it. Her eyes darted over his body, looking for any glaring abnormalities before a flirtatious smile crossed her lips.

"Get in," She ordered, "But don't take too long or I will have to fish you out. It's a miracle you have yet to fall unconscious."

"My tolerance is building again." He said, setting himself into the steaming water.

"Unfortunately so."

Geralt would have commented on her remark if he thought himself able, his mind blanking in intervals as the possibility of blacking out crept closer and closer. He took the sponge in his hand, reaching over a pained shoulder to scrub his back with a groan. Yennefer cursed again, the dwarven dialect grating the witcher's ears.

"You're pathetic, Geralt." She teased harshly, "Give it to me."

He relinquished his hold on the water logged sponge, feeling it again moments later on his back and neck with steadfast determination. He hadn't noticed the addition of her own soaps to the water until the strong scent reached his nose, piercing through the block the fading potions had created. Her fingers ran gently through his caked hair, freeing it of the mud and blood acting as a cement. The continuous strokes upon his scalp beginning to soften in sensitivity. Geralt felt regret grasp the heart he claimed as unfeeling as his body began to shut down.

"I'm sorry, Yen." He whispered, "For everything."

Yennefer paused for a moment before stopping the cleanse completely. She was surprised by the unsuspected apology, furthermore by the action he believed required it. She felt him struggle to push himself upwards, to emerge from the water before going limp. Determination to not be useless she deemed was the sole source of influence driving him from the bath, working as he stepped from the tub to the cold floor only to stumble.

"I'm still here." She breathed as she helped him regain balance, guiding him to the large bed. He had fallen into unconciousness as he fell flat upon the covers, head resting upon the pillows as his breathing slowed. She watched his face relax, no longer experiencing pain and torment. She no longer struggled with holding back the tears she battled with, allowing them to flow as she sat beside Geralt. "Rest, my love."

SCENE:

"Gods, you look dreadful, Geralt." Ciri watched the witcher climb from the tavern steps in obvious discomfort. He guided himself to her table, his hands touching every table along the way.

"I'm hearing that a lot recently." He muttered as he dropped onto the bench opposite the young witcheress.

"For good reason." She laughed, "I bet Yennefer had a grand time when you returned last night."

Geralt remained silent and drank from her own water filled cup, admitting defeat.

"That bad? I hadn't heard any shouting." She looked puzzled for a mere second, "Perhaps she was quiet and deadly, I do remember her - "

"I'm hungry." Geralt said, ceasing the conversation and eyeing the loaf of bread he remembered seeing the first time he had arrived at the Rosemary. Weighing his options, he tore a hard wedge free and chewed it with resolve. Ciri only watched with distate before leaving the table momentarily, returning shortly after with an armful of fleshy peaches.

Geralt thankfully set the rancid baguette aside and bit into a fresh peach, feeling the ripe juice burst at the mouthful. Ciri did the same, sharing in the joy of a seemingly normal breakfast rather than the food witcher's had been accustomed to. Off in the distance they heard the bells of the Grand Temple looming over Novigrad, the chimes stopping after the ninth and reminding the two seated there was more to the world than peaches.

"So what was the contract?" Ciri asked, breaking the silence fallen over them.

Geralt seemed to regard the question before setting the core of the fruit aside with the others. He quickly scanned the room and the stairs disappearing upwards.

"A bruxa near the Pontar."

"A bruxa?" She chirped, "No wonder you look awful. Were you wounded?"

Geralt sighed as he twisted on the bench and lifted the back of his shirt to reveal Yennefer's handiwork.

"You're getting slow," Ciri teased, "No wonder Yennefer was furious. I'm surprised she stitched you back up, Geralt."

"She believes it was a griffin." He admitted with remorse, still having guilt bubbling in his stomach.

"You lied to her?" A sudden draft of disbelief flowed through the dining area of the tavern, "Geralt - "

"I know." He said, acknowledging his fault. "I don't need her worrying."

"Worrying? There's nothing to worry about if you had already returned." Geralt felt as if he were being scolded. While knowing he should be chastised, he hadn't expected it from Ciri. "The only reason to be worried is if you hadn't completed - " Ciri's mind clicked into understanding.

"You can't tell her, Ciri."

"I won't have to. She's going to find out, Geralt. I'm surprised she didn't find out last night."

"And I will deal with it when it comes - " He turned at the sound of footsteps upon the stairs, expecting Yennefer to arrive with storms in her eyes and anger in her heart. A sigh of relief escaped as the sound ceased with Shani standing before the glare of witcher and witcheress.

"Am I interupting something? A secret witcher meeting, perhaps?"

"No," Ciri assured, "Come join us."

"I would love to, but I am needed at the infirmary. See you both later." The medic smiled as she left through the heavy door, sending a breeze through the large room. Ciri stared longingly after her, quickly shifting her gaze after meeting Geralt's.

"Want to go after her?" Now it was Geralt who was doing the teasing, Ciri's cheeks growing red. "You know I me and her had - "

"Alright, Geralt!" She blurted, "Please don't say what I think you are giong to say."

"Happened once." Ciri hid behind her open hands, shaking her head gently. "She's nearly ten years older than you - "

"Oh gods! I'll see you later, Geralt." She stepped from the table quickly, hiding her embarrasment and dashing from thetavern through the back door.

SCENE:

Ciri felt as if a blanket had been draped over her shoulders as she stepped from the Rosemary, the low morning sun having casted her in warmth and golden light. She ignored the begging of the poverty stricken as she walked through the dirt streets towards the large arch carved from the wall, the hills of Redanian countryside lining the horizon outside the city limits. She paid no attention to the jeers and heckling from the guards passing by, their breastplates adorned with the emblem of the church rather than Redania. Blood coating the silver metal, darker in the indentations where Ciri imagined the innocents attempted to fight back.

Ciri's suspicions were confirmed as she left the city, passing the large carts hauled to the city wall filled with the dead and dying. Women screaming as their hands were bound to one another, forming a train of prisoners poked and prodded in the direction of the entrance. Men sobbed silently as they were lined up by the large pits with their backs to the executioners. Children being hurried to a large tent where they would be conscripted into the church, brainwashed into believing they were saved. Paranoia, hate and determination had transformed the city into a hub of madness and horror. She feared the future of these actions, of who will be called a witch and burned at the pyres.

"I'm not a witch!" Screamed a woman practically being dragged at the end of the prisoner chain, the halberds of various guards motivating her to continue walking.

"Hold the line!" Yelled a man from behind a thick, ragged beard. The suspected witches stopped at his call, their sorrows continue to fall from their eyes and fill the air. "You aren't a witch?" He asked the woman.

"No! I'm a seamstress - "

"Gods! My apologies!" He retrieved a key from the dozens hanging from his belt and unlocked the cuffs around her wrists, apologizing to her all the while. "You're free, ma'am. We can't afford to have an escort, but you may go back to your village."

Ciri's suspicions had risen, anticipating the worst as the old woman thanked the guards and headed on her way slowly over the dirty trail. She cast only a single glance backwards before continuing, happiness filled her mind before the bolt pierced her heart. The Redanian man stood with a crossbow in his hands, watching her bleed a dozen paces away.

"Push the line!" He yelled as he handed the crossbow back to a mounted soldier. The prisoners continued as new cries joining the old as they were herded into the city. Ciri felt anger grip her tightly but recognized the futility of her planned actions. Instead, she brushed the ashen strands from her face and continued on her way to her planned getaway, being careful to avoid walking anywhere near the fallen woman. If the body remains unburied for too long, Geralt will have more work other than the runaway Bruxa, she thought. The scent of decay would only add to the already putrid odor of the uncovered mass grave, and with the constant breeze the sightings and encounters with necrophages will only increase.

A strong urge to run had consumed Ciri, to run from the death and decay that had consumed her world. Her feet sinking slightly into the soft earth with every swift stride, in the dark corners of her mind she feared blood the cause of the soft ground. She ran past patrols of guards, farmers struggling to pull their small carts of crops, refugees from land destroyed by war. All of them ignored as she darted past, dodging with ease as she jumped and spun. The tall, decrepit windmill standing proud on the horizon and marked her destination.

SCENE:

Geralt slowly entered his tavern room, avoiding the creaking of the door and slipping through the threshold silently. He glanced at the bed quickly, expecting to see Yennefer still sprawled about in a mess of sheets and raven hair. Instead it was empty although still a mess.

"Why are you being so devious, Geralt?" Her voice sounded from behind a partition to which Geralt had approached, spotting her within the bath he remembered vaguely. In his mind, the rooms layout had been vastly different, but dismissed it as being hardly being lucid.

"Thought you might be sleeping still." He darted his eyes over her exposed skin, feeling a shiver in his lower back.

"I may appreciate my sleep, Geralt. But I am by no means nocturnal." She smiled as she ran her hands through her hair, washing it thoroughly with slow, meticulous care.

"Have you gone lame, or have you forgotten why you came?"

"Wanted to see you." Geralt took a seat opposite the tub, extending his legs and crossing one ankle over the other.

"Well you certainly have." She again showed the smile he adored so much, flashing it only for a moment before returning to scrubbing the unseen dirt from her arms. Geralt had lost himself on the froth slowly sliding down her porcelain skin, the foam emphasizing aspects he found engrossing. His mind running rampant with various scenarios, all of them being read by Yennefer as she hummed quietly to herself. "Since you are here, perhaps you can answer a question."

Geralt shrugged his shoulders.

"Last night before you fell into unconsciousness, you apologized to me."

"Did I say what for?" Geralt had remembered the words that were to come and the reasoning behind it. He knew how he had affected her, the worry and fear she felt in the days where he was gone. He felt guilty of his behavior, of the way he treated her with anything other than unconditional respect and love. He had apologized for not being as she wanted, for not speaking what she wanted to hear, and for not being there when she wanted him and needed him.

"I believe you said for everything, and while I would like to believe you meant it as such, I am curious."

Geralt unwillingly hesitated for a moment, feeling the words he wished to speak catch in his dry throat.

"I'm sorry, I don't." He eventually said regretfully.

"How unfortunate." Yennefer frowned. She had completed her routine and stood from the water, wrapping her hair in a bland white towel in an ornate pattern. She flicked her wrist as she walked past Geralt to the large armoire, drying her body before sitting before the looking glass. Numerous vials and bottles sprawled about the surface and as each was uncorked the familiarity was recognized. Lilac and Gooseberries perfume sprayed in calculated amounts."Do you have anything planned for today?"

"Nothing as of yet." He replied as he approached to stand behind her, looking into her reflection. "Although I can think of a few things to do."

"I imagine so."

"We are the only ones here."

"Ciri?" She questioned, pulling a dropper from her eyes.

"Won't return until later."

In the reflection Geralt saw her feign contemplation, taking the time to gaze upon her more. He knew her answer as she stood to face him and tore the towel from her head, throwing it aside with a devilish grin upon her face.

"What are you waiting for, Geralt?" She taunted. Geralt, following her words and deciding to waste no more time, ignored the pain of his sore body and bent quickly to stand again with Yennefer in his arms. She laughed wildly, the same laugh he loved so much, and wrapped her arms around his neck, her lips pressing against his ear as she whispered. Their hunger for one another bringing them to the bed, where their union would only strengthen and love for each other present itself in physicality.


End file.
